


observations in uncertainty

by fableknot



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 20:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12943725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fableknot/pseuds/fableknot
Summary: Grace was used to being noticed.





	1. Chapter 1

It was evening in London, and the celebration being held by the Shadowhunters was in full swing. On one end of the room stood a young girl with hair like the sun and eyes like the early morning sky. Although she'd only recently established herself in society, suitors from almost every family in town flocked around her in droves. She considered them with a smile, the glow of the lamplight at her back, and watched as their expressions turned reverent.

Grace Blackthorn knew exactly what she was doing.

It didn't matter what they were. Shadowhunter, Mundane, Downworlder—she was never out of touch with their desires. A shy blush here, a sinful look there. They fawned over how she had both the innocence of a debutante and the flair of a courtesan. It was easier still to be silent, when she was nothing more than a pretty face to project their fantasies on. Mama had raised her to be a weapon, and beauty was just another tool at her disposal.

Mama hadn't come with her tonight. It was a rare occasion that she would step foot outside Chiswick Manor at all. Grace would often see her step-mother muttering to herself in her chair, mourning over the well-kept portrait of Jesse on the wall. She would always tell visitors Grace was her pride and joy, but she only ever loved about her dear, sweet son. Not that Grace was resentful of the fact. Although Shadowhunters took care of their own, she was grateful to have been given clothes on her back and a roof over her head. Most of all, she was grateful to have been given the chance to know Jesse, however brief that was.

Grace had wanted him back as much as Mama.

She cast a sly glance over to where James Herondale and his circle were. He was looking at her as he always had, with unabashed hunger and longing. The flecks in his starry eyes seemed to brighten as she approached. There was hope on his face, that she might request for his company, that she might return his affections. It was so devastatingly heartbreaking that any other person might entertain him. But Grace had steeled herself against those feelings long before he came back into the picture. Nothing could hinder the assignment Mama had tasked her with.

Her eyes fell on her absent-minded cousin. "Mr. Lightwood," she said, slightly raising her voice to catch his attention. "If I may be so bold," she extended a hand, "may I have the pleasure of this dance?"

It was a bit scandalous, but if Grace didn't ask, he would never take the hint. She was glad that their unique connection afforded her to be more familiar with him than others, since they weren't related by blood.

From the corner of her eye, she saw hope turn into despair. Matthew Fairchild regarded her with contempt from over his shoulder.

Christopher blinked at her waiting hand, as if he had _just_ seen it, before he replied, "I don't see why not."

She led him to the floor, and the music began to pick up for another round. She guided his hand around her waist, with her hand on his shoulder. Her partner would usually be a nervous wreck at this point, but his attention on her was waning even now.

"I know we've met before," Grace said, "but I don't believe we've truly spoken with one another. Tell me about yourself."

He shrugged. "There isn't really much for me to say."

She laughed. It was a practiced gesture, but no one could ever tell the difference. "Nonsense. I hear you like inventing. Haven't you been working with the Consul's husband since you were a child?" She looked at him from under her lashes. "What's that like?"

A flicker of excitement passed through his expression. "Very exciting," he said. "Mr. Branwell always comes up with the most brilliant ideas."

"Can you explain them to me?" They always liked that.

However, instead of adopting a condescending tone or oversimplifying it for her, he went straight into a tangent. "We have fluorine lines running all over the place. Since it has one of the highest oxidation potentials, it's allowed us to set off the necessary reactions needed for a wider range on the Sensor. I've caused an explosion in the laboratory at least twice by adding the modifications. Mr. Branwell is even worse with the fires he's set…"

Grace nodded along as her feet were in immense pain. He was stepping on her toes every now and then, until she decided enough was enough and said, "Here, let me lead." She glided him into a waltz, her mastery making up for his lack of, as he continued the conversation.

This was getting ridiculous. People were supposed to be vapid, dull, and utterly predictable. Yet everything about him had thrown her off-kilter. None of her usual wiles were working. What should she have expected from someone who, in all likelihood, couldn't remember her name? At some point, she might have actually been interested in what he was saying, but the celebration couldn't last forever. Mama was waiting. _Jesse_ was waiting.

She pressed herself against the front of his suit. "Why don't we take a step outside?" Once the music came to an end, she tugged him along through the entryway.

They stopped at a large window overlooking the city streets. The sounds of the celebration were all but distant. Her hands were encircling his arms. Her grey eyes were focused solely on him. But he had gone back to being distracted. Even Magnus Bane had been stunned by her radiance. At least at first.

"Don't you think I'm beautiful?" she asked abruptly.

"Beautiful? Why, yes. I suppose so." He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure every person you've met has told you that. But that would be doing a disservice, wouldn't it? It would be like me complimenting you for being a Nephilim. You're much more than that. You're cunning, you're resilient."

He was extremely close all of a sudden, beyond what was proper in the bounds of their connection. He was almost dashing in a way, his tousled brown hair haloed by the light of the moon.

"You're also very dangerous, Grace Blackthorn."

She hadn't anticipated to feel his lips on hers. The world swung out of focus, out of existence. Then it was over too soon.

"Welsh cheesecakes," he said as he pulled away. "I didn't think you were one to have a sweet tooth."

Her hand flew to her mouth. Her cheeks were burning with a strange heat. Without so much as a goodbye, he made his way back to the celebration.

Christopher Lightwood was proving to be a more difficult assignment than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The series isn't even out yet, but I'm all over Grace and Christopher, Cordelia and James, Lucie and a Fake!Jesse, and Matthew with himself (plus James, possibly). If you're interested, I post fanart of _The Shadowhunter Chronicles_ over [on my blog](https://fableknot.tumblr.com/tagged/shadowhunter-chronicles). | This chapter was last updated on March 13, 2018.


	2. Chapter 2

Grace assumed the laboratory under the Institute would be much like home. Dour. Bleak. It was hard to imagine otherwise when it was housed in a crypt, where the former church once buried their dead. The stairs leading down was damp and unlit, a danger in itself. But when the enormous wooden door at the bottom swung open, she was recieved by a dazzling display of light.

A fire crackled in the furnace against the wall, blanketing the room in honey-and-marmalade hues. Suits of armor shone silver beside their weapons. Glass containers of all shapes and sizes glittered beneath the fixtures of witchlight. It was breathtaking.

Grace was beginning to consider that this wasn't so bad. She had been convinced that she managed to wrangle Christopher into taking a walk together but apparently, she agreed to being a witness to his experiments. He was pouring a clear solution into a beaker now, while she sat daintily on a stool across from him.

Smoke snaked from the rim of the glass. He was so infamous for his explosions that she ought to be more worried about her situation, but she could not wrench her thoughts from the night of the celebration. The more she dwelled on his words, the more cryptic they became.

How much did he know about her? Were all the times she heard him mangle her name a farce? Had he figured out Mama's plan? If he had his suspicions, why didn't he warn the Clave? Questions gnawed at the hollows in her chest. There was a conscience in there, somewhere, but if they had a chance of saving Jesse, she had to have Christopher wrapped around her finger.

"Will you hand me the spark lighter?" he asked.

She did, and he lit the burner from under the tripod.

"Didn't this laboratory used to be Mr. Branwell's study?" Grace said.

He looked up at the pillars that ascended into the shadows of the ceiling, his expression fond. "Why, yes. It was here where he came up with the Phosphor that would interrupt De Quincey's last bloody performance. It was here where he and Magnus Bane perfected the Portal to stop Axel Mortmain and his clockwork army. It was here... before he and his wife moved to their new home."

She pursed her lips. "You miss him."

"We still see each other sometimes." He placed the spark lighter down. "I only wish I was alive then to experience it."

"The turn of the century not exciting enough for you?" she teased.

"Well," he said, honestly considering his reply. "I would regret not being here with you."

She looked at him sharply, that same strange heat creeping over her. It wasn't like she was unused to such comments, yet she couldn't turn away. Suddenly, she was very much aware of the small smile curled on his lips, the beads of sweat sliding down the column of his neck, and the black marks that dipped enticingly below his collar.

Then the beaker combusted into a spray of fumes and glass. Christopher quickly reached for something to damp out the fire.

Grace saw herself reflected against a seraph blade hanging on the wall. Her meticulously-styled hair stuck out in all directions. Soot was smeared over every inch of her skin. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"Good Lord, are you alright?" he exclaimed, rushing to her side. "Here, let me get you—"

She couldn't contain it. She _laughed._

It was a horrible, ugly laugh. She held onto the table, snorting uncontrollably. Then he was laughing, too.

As Grace fought to catch her breath, all she could think about was that she'd made a sound she hadn't heard in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself it would only be one chapter, but here we are. I have a lot of feelings about these two. Although I'm well aware of this misleading family tree business, I've made my bed and I'll lie in it, damn it! | This chapter was last updated on July 4, 2018.


	3. Chapter 3

Christopher had went on to pay Grace a call nearly every week for the past three months. Perhaps he felt guilty after what had happened in the laboratory, or perhaps he was telling the truth about enjoying her company. Either way, she was getting exactly what she wanted. They were finally on an excursion to the park.

Mama had hired a chaperon to accompany them, but it was largely for show. Although the Shadowhunters may be more lax in etiquette, the public was still very much restrained. Grace could not dare to be seen unattended. Thankfully, Mama had chosen a woman who would keep a tight lip on any indecency that transpired.

 _If_  any would transpire. Grace could drape herself over Christopher's bed, whisper "take me" in his ear, and he would genuinely think she wanted to be "taken" for tea. He had to be doing it on purpose, she reasoned, although she was having difficulty believing that. How could he call her cunning and resilient, when he was sometimes as dense as a brick? She wanted to confront him about it, but she always stopped short.

She chewed her lip. "Christopher," she started. "There's something I... that is to say, I've been meaning to ask you..." Her eyes rose to his face, and she froze, suddenly noticing the wrinkles between his brows and the circles under his eyes. "My goodness, did you sleep at all last night?"

"Oh." He inclined his head. "Did I now? I remember configuring the settings for th—"

"Stop," she said, cutting a hand in front of him. "Forget whatever it was you were about to say. I can't _stand_ when people try to push themselves beyond what they can handle."

She glanced around before dragging him through the trees and down the bank of the pond, the summer breeze careening past them. She plopped down on the grass and patted the space beside her. "Sit," she commanded. 

"But—"

"Your health is important." She lifted her chin. "Sit."

He looked helplessly back at her chaperon, who only stared at him in reply. He sat down.

"Now," Grace said, "close your eyes."

He swallowed, but ultimately did as he was told.

She lifted a hand towards him, hesitated, and gently pulled his head down to rest in her lap. The tips of his ears colored pink. His back went ramrod straight.

She swatted his shoulder. "Relax."

His posture slackened, and her fingers wove through the tufts of his hair. A sense of familiarity came over her. She had done this before, she thought. With Jesse.

She remembered sitting on the lawn outside the manor, a crown of flowers in her hand. Jesse would be napping at the base of the willow tree. It was around that time Mama had grown to fear for him being outside, that the smallest thing might break him, but he would always manage to convince her otherwise. When Grace saw him at peace like that, she could almost imagine there wasn't an illness eating away at him. She had merely come across a prince from a fairy tale.

After he died, her emotions had become muted, as though she were experiencing the world from behind a plane of glass. It hurt less that way, she supposed. She accepted that she may never love another person as much as she did him. Mama's lack of affection didn't bother her. Her friendship with Eugenia was absent of any real substance. James was, well, complicated. Christopher, on the other hand, made her want so much more.

She peered down at him. He wasn't handsome, not in a classical way. Yet she found herself fascinated when he would tie his hair in a messy knot whenever he worked and his glasses would fall askew whenever he rambled. In their quieter moments, she would count the traces of ink and chemicals on him, always varying from day-to-day. Catching his little mannerisms had become a game to her, and she might have been so absorbed that she may have all but completely forgotten Mama's orders.

"Young Nephilim and their dalliances. How delectable."

They jumped to their feet as a dark, slimy tendril slithered from the bushes. It curled and stretched until it loomed high above their heads. _Demon._ She slid a foot in front of Christopher, her eyes narrowed in warning.

"Oh, she's a cold one, isn't she?" it purred.

She wordlessly plucked the pins from her hair and sent them flying. The demon gave a cry and struck, forcing her and Christopher apart. Her chaperon, endowed with the Sight, had run to a safe distance.

While Christopher distracted the creature with his throwing knives—where and how, she had no idea—Grace bent her knees and jumped onto its back. Her fingers coiled around its neck, keeping it in place. With her free hand, she reached for the seraph blade hidden in her dress. _"Cassiel,"_ she said before she slid and drove the blade across its flesh, a fountain of blood and entrails following in her wake.

She landed on her feet, looking absently at her gruesome surroundings. Little red rivulets ran hot over her skin, seeping into the fabric of her ruined dress. Yet she couldn't bring herself to care about her appearance, only that she couldn't meet Christopher's gaze.

She was afraid—of what he saw, of what he would see. When she wasn't putting on a performance, staring at her face was like staring at a void. Keeping it up in a battle was damn near impossible. Just who was Grace Blackthorn when she was stripped of her mask? A blade was guided by the hand of its master, not by a personality of its own. There was nothing cunning or resilient about it. All she had were holes and lies.

She finally forced herself to look up.

"Grace," he began.

She felt her heart drop when he interrupted himself, his eyes wandering over to the remains of the creature before returning to her. She refused to move, knowing it was better this way, for him to take her in entirely as she was.

"You don't have to be scared," he said softly. "I know it's you."

Then she was on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips, her hands cupping either side of his face. This time, it was exactly as long as it should have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent weeks trying to figure out how to put the perfect words together, but then I just threw my hands up and rolled with it. | This chapter was last updated on May 19, 2018.


	4. Chapter 4

The teacup shattered on the wall next to Grace's head. She hadn't so much as flinched as Mama flung a slew of curses in her direction. Her eyes were kept down, fascinated by the string of porcelain shards on the threadbare rug.

"We've been putting our efforts into that boy for months," her step-mother seethed, "and _now_ you have second thoughts? Have you forgotten what I've done for you? Do you no longer care for Jesse?"

Grace came forward. "There are other ways of helping him," she objected. "We haven't exhausted all of our options." They had relied on their resources in the Downworld, the Shadow Markets, to carry out the resurrection process, but Magnus Bane had effectively put a stop to it. She did not blame him, neither did she believe the world was as black and white as she was told. "We can go to the Institute. The Herondales, they—"

Pain seared across her cheek. Mama had risen from her chair, her eyes burning. "I will not _beg_ for their help," she spat.

Grace went silent.

Mama sank back down. Her expression crumpled into exhaustion. "Do you love him?"

Grace looked away. She had come to know Christopher as confusing, vexing, and much too innocent in ways she was not. By all accounts, they should be completely incompatible. "I... I don't know."

A sigh escaped Mama's lips. "It seems that your training wasn't enough." She closed her eyes. "Get out. I cannot tolerate another failure."

Grace had already known she would say that. She even went as far as to pack her bags the day before. Still, it hurt all the same. Although she managed to refrain from visiting Jesse's room one last time, she thought she heard the faint notes of a piano accompanying her leave.

A carriage waited for her outside the gates. Christopher paced at the end of the long gravel road. His eyes widened at the residual mark on her cheek. "Did she hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, and looked back at the manor. 

Without her, Mama would be left to fester alone in her madness. Despite everything, Grace promised to save her. The Black Volume of the Dead had to be protected, and the other Blackthorns had to be warned. There was also the matter with the faeries, but that could be dealt with in time.

She turned to Christopher, her hand finding its way around his. It was hard to understand what she was feeling. She hadn't even considered the possibility it might be love. But whatever it was, she wanted to see it through.

She smiled. "Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something to wrap up a loose end. Listening to Alex & Sierra's "[Little Do You know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bzIpYiPUUo)," whose lyrics would strongly correlate with this ship if placed in a different context. | This chapter was last updated on May 5, 2017.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is a bonus scene that takes place shortly before Chapter Three.

"Going somewhere?"

Christopher's hand froze inches from the door. "Oh," he said, turning around. "Absolutely. I think I'll stop by the market today. I heard a shipment of synthetic fertilizers was brought in last week, and I simply must procure some before they're all gone."

Anna chucked. "You're a terrible liar." She lowered the cigar she had in her hand, tapping the ash off the tip. "It's that Blackthorn girl, isn't it? The one James is infatuated with?"

His lips parted to make a half-hearted refusal, but he stopped, knowing nothing would escape her. His eyes fell shut. "Grace."

"Heavens," Anna said, putting a hand dramatically to her chest. "So it's 'Grace,' now?"

"So it would seem," he said with a smile. He looked at her. "How did you know?"

Anna cocked a brow. "I'm your sister." She brought the cigar back to her lips. "And I know everything. In fact, weren't you the one who mentioned something about her following you a few weeks back? It wasn't hard to put two and two together when you've chosen to be rather quiet about what you've been up to lately." She walked up to lay a hand on his shoulder. "But Grace Blackthorn, out of all people." She shook her head. "You've done a fine job of keeping your little secret from the boys, but they'll find out. I trust you know what you're getting into?"

"Yes." He was surprised by how easily that came out.

She grinned at him before reaching up to ruffle his hair. When he tried to bat her away, she leaned in to whisper, "I'm sorry. I can't help but worry for you sometimes." She had been about to pull back, when she suddenly paused and pointed at the faint outlines showing through his jacket. "Are those knives?"

"What knives?" he replied.

She opened her mouth, clearly wanting to say something, but instead she shook her head and shooed him from the house. "You have my support," she yelled as the door closed on him.

Christopher smoothed a hand down the lower half of his face, knowing he was in quite the predicament. James especially was bound to suspect something. As much as Christopher wanted to spare his feelings, he couldn't continue to act as though he didn't know who Grace was, although it was certainly true at one point.

Before the night of the celebration, he vaguely remembered Matthew's warnings about keeping a Gloria or Gertrude away from James and that she was "dangerous." Christopher wasn't sure how he was able to recall her actual name when she pulled him away or what possessed him to steal a kiss, but it seemed _right._ The moment his lips came into contact with hers, he was sent into a daze. When it finally occurred to him what he'd done, he had already left her standing in the hallway.

Anyone else would have steered clear of him after that. They might have even ran from the moment they saw him dance. But Grace didn't. On the contrary, she had been adamant about involving herself in his affairs. He could still remember her laugh when the beaker exploded in her face and sent her picture-perfect appearance into disarray. Grace was quickly becoming a constant in his life, and it was hard to remain oblivious to everything that came with it.

Christopher frowned. He had never taken anything this seriously before. Was it the mystery behind her? She was obviously carrying a lot on her shoulders. Admittedly, Christopher had once taken an interest in what happened to her brother, Jesse. How could he not when Thomas, his closest friend, almost shared his fate? The Blackthorns were the talk of the town, and everyone seemed to have an opinion about them.

He shook his head. He was probably getting himself into trouble again, but what did it matter? He never paid attention to what anyone else thought, anyway. Grace was Grace. A walking contradiction who, for whatever reason, never gave up on him. Although he had a feeling those reasons might be sinister, he wanted to stay by her side. When his head wanted to float up in the clouds, she kept him tethered in a way no one else could.

"Well," he said, straightening his collar. "I guess it's off to the park."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My love for Christopher and Grace has been rekindled. | This chapter was last updated on January 15, 2019.


End file.
